Lifeguards
by callensensei
Summary: An AU ending to X Marks the Spot, in which Gilligan is having a little more trouble swimming back to the island.
1. Chapter 1

Lifeguards

(dedicated to my dear friend Martina, who gave me most of the plot!)

_Alone, alone, all alone_

_Alone on a wide, wide sea_

_And never a saint took pity on_

_My soul in agony._

_Samuel Taylor Coleridge, "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner"_

The castaways watched in horror as the disarmed missile sped past them into the lagoon with Gilligan trapped on board. Their frantic, incoherent cries all ran together under the rocket's roar.

"He's still in there, that boy!"

"He never had a chance to get out!"

The missile shot round the bend in the lagoon and out towards the open sea.

Gilligan had fallen over and been knocked unconscious during the mad ride through the jungle. Now as he stirred, groaning, he groped wildly for a handhold as his steel prison soared up a great height, standing almost perpendicular, and then tumbled headlong down, down, as though on a roller coaster. Nauseous and frantic, he saw water pouring in the sides of the open hatchway.

"Aaagh!" Gilligan crawled towards the hatchway and desperately launched himself through. He slipped against the missile's slippery steel hull and fell into the blue green trough of an enormous ocean swell. The empty missile bobbed and toppled at the huge crest of the swell, and then vanished over the other side. Gilligan looked around and blanched with horror. He could see no island.

Instead, he was surrounded on all sides by colossal moving mountains of water. They rolled and heaved and pitched at impossible heights, their primordial strength dwarfing Gilligan's tiny frame. Instinctively he plunged forward in a blind panic, desperate to reach one of the mighty crests and catch a glimpse of land. With a Herculean effort he tried to fight his way to the top of a towering blue-green wall, but it mocked him in its vastness. Again and again he tried, but the crests swept over his head, dark and rumbling. Again and again he emerged, gasping and blinking, only to fall back into a nightmare world of massive waves and vast blue chasms. The wind howled through them in a terrible, ghostly whisper, chilling him and mocking at his helplessness. There was no knowing in which direction to go.

Lost in panic, Gilligan began to scream. _"Skipper! Skipper, help me! Where are you?"_

And somehow a familiar, booming voice echoed in his memory. "Now hear this! Seaman Recruit Gilligan!"

"Aye aye, sir!" Gilligan gasped, hand momentarily snapping up in a salute, before it fell back to plash desperately at the water.

"This is a review of the emergency swimming instructions from your Navy Third Class Swim Test! In the event our destroyer is ever sunk by enemy fire, this training could save your life!"

And it all came back to Gilligan: the grey deck of the destroyer, his shipmates in their snowy white bell-bottoms and tunics, and the tall, burly bear of a man in a khaki uniform who was to become his dearest friend. "Seaman Recruit Gilligan! What do you do if you are adrift at sea without a flotation device?"

Gilligan answered aloud, into the comforting past. "Swim for shore, sir!"

The Jonas Grumby of Gilligan's memory rolled his eyes. "Of course you do! But shore may be a long way off, boy! How do you keep from becoming too tired to reach it?"

Gilligan answered almost without thinking. "Tread water, sir! Conserve energy, sir!"

"That's right!" The vision began to fade into the monstrous present, but the voice called one last time, "Now don't let me catch you panicking again – and that's an order!"

And again he was ringed by massive waves that towered above, threatening to engulf him. Gilligan took a deep breath and fought down the impulse to swim like a madman. Instead he swam in smooth strokes, trying to ride the rhythm of the waves. "Aye aye, Skipper! I won't panic again – I promise!"

"I see him! He's alive!"

High on the top of one of the island's leafy green hills, the castaways of the Minnow stood frantically grouped around the bamboo telescope and tripod. The wind whipped the tropical foliage into a wild dance and blew the girls' hair around their faces. The Skipper, trying to hold the telescope steady, could barely steady his own trembling hands.

"Are you sure, Skipper?" cried Mary Ann.

"Thank goodness for that red shirt! Yes, it's him all right! He got out of the missile in time!"

"Is he close enough to swim back to the island?" asked the Professor, shading his eyes and squinting fiercely into the swells.

"Yes – ep – it's an awfully long way out. But my little buddy's a good swimmer. He was one of the best on our whole destroyer…" the Skipper's voice caught at how elegiac his comment sounded. "Hang in there, little buddy! Now if he only—oh, no!" The Skipper looked blankly up from the telescope, his face gone grey.

"What is it, Skipper?" Without ceremony the Professor pushed him out of the way and bent to the telescope. The Skipper stared out at the sea, clenching his hands in helplessness. When the Professor finally captured the image of the young first mate, he too exclaimed in dismay.

"What is it, Professor?" the others cried.

"Gilligan can't see the island. The swells are too big! He's going the wrong way! He's swimming straight out to sea!"

With a strength born of desperation the Skipper turned and began ripping up young trees and tearing down vines. He knelt on the ground, fumbling with the trunks in an attempt to lash them together.

The Professor stared at him. "Skipper, what are you doing?"

"I'm going to make a raft and go and get my little buddy!"

"Skipper, are you out of your mind? It's useless! You'll never reach him in time!"

The Skipper was yanking the vines so hard he nearly snapped them in two. "I am not going to stand here and watch him die out there!"

"Neither are we, Skipper! But let's do something that will actually help him, otherwise he's going to run out of time!"

The Skipper flung down the vines and trunks with a curse. "What, Professor? What can we do?"

The Professor stared out to sea. "Attract his attention somehow! You said he's a strong swimmer! He can reach us if he knows where we are!"

"But how can we get his attention?" cried Ginger. "Gilligan accidentally blew up all of our signal flares months ago!"

"A fire!" cried Mary Ann. "We'll send up a smoke signal! He should be able to see that, even above all those waves!"

"That's it!" cried the Skipper. He caught Mary Ann up in the air and kissed her. "Little sweetheart, you're a genius! The way he's tossing about, even if he is aimed the wrong way he should be able to see it sometime!"

"Absolutely!" said the Professor. "And girls, you two run back to camp and bring our conch shells. That'll be our plan B, just in case. If we can't make him see us, we'll make him hear us!"As the two young women turned and fled down the hill, the Professor turned to the Howells. "Mr. Howell, we need fuel for the fire. Mrs. Howell, you man the telescope. Keep us informed of Gilligan's progress!"

The danger to Gilligan had jolted the Howells out of their usual distaste for manual labour. "Aye aye, Professor," they both chorused. Mrs. Howell bent to the telescope, adjusting the lens for her poorer vision. Meanwhile, the three men

dashed about gathering branches, bamboo, leaves and cones and throwing them on an ever growing pile. At last, when it had reached a height of four feet, the Professor set it alight. It smoldered briefly, snuffling in the wind, and then began to catch and crackle, sending threads of white smoke drifting into the air.

"Come on, little buddy!" cried the Skipper, waving his cap desperately in the air.

Mrs. Howell waved her handkerchief. "We're over here, dear boy! Keep swimming!"


	2. Chapter 2

Gilligan bobbed like a tiny red cork amid the titanic swells of blue and green. Though the island was still invisible, he forced himself to stop swimming and gently tread water, knowing he could not afford to wear himself out. He took deep breaths and closed his eyes, trying to picture the island and his friends, anything to keep himself calm: the Skipper with arms akimbo, yelling at him for firing up the missile's rockets, yanking off his captain's cap to swat Gilligan on the head. The image comforted him for a moment, but all at once Gilligan he felt himself slipping down, down, and opened his eyes to find himself sliding deep into a great, dark valley of water. Wild to swim, he bit his lip to keep from screaming. He must not swim. He had to keep treading water. The Skipper was not here; no one was here. He was alone. If he panicked, he was dead.

Still treading, he scanned the shifting horizon desperately as the blue swells sank to the depths and mounted to the heavens. There was still no land, no sign. He might not even be swimming the right way. The Professor had once said that the ancient Polynesians had ridden these waves in their great outrigger canoes; they had journeyed from Hawaii to the castaways' own island countless years ago. Those seafarers, the Professor said, knew how to find land from the shape of the waves and the way they traveled…but Gilligan didn't know how. Terror gnawed at his heart again, urging S_wim! Swim! Move! _"Stop it!" he shouted. "I'm not going to give in! I'm going to make it back!"

Far off in the swells he suddenly saw a grey shape shooting along through a wall of water, then another shape, and then another. He stared, bewildered, as the great flowing troughs and mountains shifted about him and momentarily hid the view. The next time he saw the creatures they were closer, hurtling through the water like torpedoes. When one of them finally broke through and skimmed the surface of that great, shifting blue curtain, Gilligan got his first good look.

His stomach lurched and his heart plummeted. They were fish, huge grey fish, fifteen feet long at least, with tall, triangular dorsal fins and gaping maws of serrated teeth.

They had smelled his fear. They had come for him.

Sharks.

He was dead.

"It's no good!" cried the Skipper. "The wind's blowing the smoke away! It's not going to lead him here even if he does see it!"

Despite the castaways' frantic efforts to fan the flames, what little smoke arose was indeed blowing away, vanishing before it could rise ten feet. The Professor waved them to stop. "Then let's not waste time. Plan B! Everyone grab a conch shell! The trumpet will carry for miles!"

The castaways, excluding Mrs. Howell, who was still manning the telescope, held up the gleaming white football sized shells and blew for all they were worth, willing the sound to carry across the sea. After a few minutes the Professor called out, "Mrs. Howell? How's he doing?"

"Oh, it's so dreadfully difficult to see, Professor! Those awful waves just keep blocking the view!"

The Professor immediately handed her his conch. "Here, Mrs. Howell. I'll take over the telescope. You continue trumpeting with the others." The castaways, growing red-faced, kept blowing as he refocused the telescope. "There he is! I see him!"

"Has he turned around yet?" cried the Skipper.

"No – but at least he's treading water now. It's a good sign. He's pacing himself. He's not just swimming like a madman."

The Skipper swallowed. "He remembers what I taught him! Good boy, little buddy! We'll bring you back, I promise you! Come on, everybody, keep blowing!"

The Professor watched Gilligan keenly. "Yes, yes, that's it, Gilligan. Just stay calm. Ride the swells. You—" he suddenly stiffened and gasped. "Oh, no! Oh, dear Lord, no! Not like this! Not to Gilligan!"

The conch fell from the Skipper's nerveless fingers. "Wh-what? What is it, Professor?"

He rushed over to push the Professor away, but the Professor spun around and shielded the telescope, arms held out. "No, Skipper, no. You mustn't see this. Please, he wouldn't want you to. I know he wouldn't. Please!"

The Skipper couldn't stand it. "What is it?" he roared, and shoved the Professor aside so abruptly that the slimmer man nearly fell over. He grabbed the telescope and swung it back and forth, trying to focus on Gilligan.

The others stood 'round with the conch shells in their hands, paralyzed with fear. "What is it, Professor? What's happening? What did you see?" Ginger cried.

The Skipper bowed his head and clutched the telescope so tightly it nearly snapped in two. The castaways could barely hear his voice. "You're right. I…I can't look. Please, Professor, just tell me when it's all over!"

The castaways looked from the Skipper to the Professor in horror. Mr. Howell had clutched his wife close to himself. "For pity's sake, Professor, what does he mean? What's happened?"

The Professor shook his head in despair. "Gilligan is surrounded by sharks. He hasn't a chance. There's nothing we can do."

The Howells and the girls looked out to sea, their faces stricken. Mary Ann's brown eyes welled with tears. "We can pray," she whispered.


	3. Chapter 3

Pray was exactly what Gilligan was doing as he watched the monstrous fish circle ever closer, their sleek bodies and long, triangular fins slicing through the climbing water.

At the sides of the great triangular heads, cold, soulless eyes stared at him, mesmerizing him into a trance. It was only pure instinct that kept him moving enough to tread water. After the first blow, he knew, the blood would attract others. They would come for miles. There would be a wild frenzy. But at least by that point, he thought, sick and faint, he would be far past knowing it.

The largest of the great whites had now turned to make its attack. It sped forwards, foam flying, and Gilligan observed with a strange detachment how weird the head looked head-on, with its prow-shaped snout and great, red maw yawning in the pale skin of its underside. Gilligan shut his eyes tight, waiting for the pain and the darkness.

It seemed to take seconds, and it seemed to take years. He rose and fell with the billowing swells, every sense heightened to hyper-vigilance. He could smell the sea salt, taste it on his lips, feel the cool air swelling his lungs. His whole life flashed before him at dizzying speed: his childhood in Pennsylvania with his old friends, his high school days, his tour of duty in the navy, meeting the Skipper, the Minnow, and the island. And still there was no blow, no horrible rending and crushing. "Come on!" he cried. "Don't play with me like a mouse! Get it over with!"

At last, unable to stand it, Gilligan opened his eyes on his pitching, tossing blue prison and stared in disbelief.

The shark was gone.

Dumbfounded, barely able to think, Gilligan stared all around. It had to be somewhere. He even tried to look beneath him, thinking the creature might have dived below in order to come shooting up from under him. But there was nothing. At last, far off, he caught a glimpse of the great grey fins and tails sweeping the waves, but impossibly, they were _leaving_. They had left without dealing him a single blow.

On the hilltop the trembling castaways stood clutching each other, unable to speak. The Skipper still knelt by the side of the telescope, too broken to look. Crouching by him, the Professor briefly rested a sympathetic hand on the Skipper's heaving shoulder, then setting his lips in determination, took one last look though the telescope.

Suddenly the Professor gasped. "What in—I don't believe it! I don't believe it! Why are they going? They haven't touched him!"

The castaways snapped to attention.

"What?"

"What do you mean, Professor?"

"Are you sure?"

The Skipper caught his friend's arm and held it like a vice. "Wh-what? But that's impossible! Professor, I've seen what sharks do! You're not just saying this?"

The professor gripped the telescope with whitened knuckles. "I'm not, Skipper, I swear it! The sharks are going away! And Gilligan's still treading water! They wouldn't leave him if they'd wounded him – they'd be drawn to him by the blood! This means there isn't any! Gilligan is all right!"

The castaways fell back, weak with relief. Heartened, the Skipper took the telescope with trembling hands and scanned the sea. "Oh! Oh, thank you, God! There he is! My little buddy! He's alive!"

Mary Ann pulled the whipping strands of black hair out of her face and wiped the tears from her eyes. "But how, Professor? Why would they leave? Aren't they vicious predators? What would make them go?"

"I don't know! Skipper! What do you see?"

The Skipper remembered himself enough to tear his focus away from the incredible sight of his bobbing, living first mate and swung the telescope right and left, widening his field of vision. Suddenly he started to laugh his great booming laugh, a welcome sound the castaways had thought never to hear again. "Oh, my gosh! I see them now! Oh, you beautiful, beautiful things! Where did you come from! Oh, Mary Ann," and the Skipper looked back at her, "You must have been praying mighty hard. Somebody's sent him a fleet of lifeguards!"

Mr. Howell thought the Skipper had lost his mind. "By Jove, Captain, what are they? Mermaids?"

The Skipper roared for pure joy. "No! Better! They're dolphins! A whole flotilla of them! I can see them now; they're just beyond him in the swells. They're driving the sharks off and now – oh, my gosh, you beautiful, beautiful things! – they're circling! They're forming a protective cordon around him! They won't let the sharks back in!"

"Oh, those delightful creatures!" cried Mrs. Howell. "They know the poor boy's in trouble and they're trying to help him!"

"You may be right, Mrs. Howell," said the Professor. "Dolphins are very social, intelligent animals and the shark is their natural enemy. They're known to surround and protect their own kind when in danger, and now…now it seems they've adopted Gilligan!"

"Yes! Oh, stay with him, stay with him, fellas! My little buddy's just got to come back to us!"


	4. Chapter 4

Still baffled, Gilligan soared up and down the great waves, gasping and sputtering as their crests swept in awful majesty over his head. He could no longer see the sharks anywhere: no fins, no speeding shapes, nothing. Again that inner voice, now swelling with relief, urged, _Get away! Now! Now, while they've gone! Swim! _ He began to claw the water and kick, but stopped himself again, shaking his head wildly as though to banish the impulse once and for all. "No!" he shouted, the sound lost amid the waves. "I promised! I'm not going to panic and swim 'til I drop! Now I know I'm meant to live! I must be!" He looked up at the grey, boiling heavens and shouted as loud as he could. "Where's the island? Which way do I go? Show me! Give me a sign!"

He kept his eyes fixed on the churning sky and suddenly gasped, desperately shaking the water from his eyes as he strained to see. He couldn't be imagining it. He couldn't. There, unmistakable in all that expanse of emptiness, was a bird.

And such a bird! Like a seagull, but far larger than any flying bird he had ever seen, its great wings stretched so far that it seemed the creature might cross the ocean without ever needing to flap them. The white feathers on its underside gleamed like snow and the black feathers bordering its mighty wings shone like ebony. Effortlessly it rode the wind currents above the waves, like a being from another world.

And Gilligan, staring transfixed, remembered the poem the Skipper loved and so often read aloud. He heard his old friend's voice over the roar of the waves:

_At length did cross an Albatross_

_Through the fog it came_

_As if it had been a Christian soul_

_We hailed it in God's name._

"In God's name," Gilligan whispered. "Oh, thank you, Skipper!" Keeping his eyes fixed on the vision, he began to follow it, straightening and plunging his way through the heaving swells.

"Hey – hey, everybody! He's turned around! Gilligan's swimming towards us! He's heading for the island!"

The castaways hurrahed in hope at the Skipper's shout. "Oh, bully for him!" cried Mr. Howell. "What made him turn? Has the dear boy seen us?"

"I don't know! I don't see how he could, with all those big swells. He can't even get to the top of them! But he's swimming!" The Skipper clenched his hands, eye glued to the telescope. "That's it, little buddy. Long, smooth, strokes. Don't waste energy! Come on! You can do it, if you're half the man I think you are!"

"Maybe it's the dolphins!" said Ginger. "Are they still with him? Maybe they've shown him the way back!"

The Skipper shook his head. "I don't think so, Ginger. They're still there, circling him, but they're pretty far out."

"And they don't need to come to land, so they wouldn't know that he would," the Professor added. "They'd have no reason to lead him here."

Mary Ann breathed a deep sigh of relief. "Well, whatever the reason he's turned, let's just be grateful! Now he's got a fighting chance!" She turned to her red-haired room-mate. "Ginger, we'd better get back to camp and get some blankets and hot soup ready for him. He's going to be cold and exhausted when he gets to shore! Skipper, where do you think he's going to come in?"

The Skipper visualized the shoreline. "If he keeps going in the same direction, he should come in by the rocks just under the cliff here…" He suddenly stopped and looked back at the castaways and gulped, face white. "Oh, no! The rocks! The surf! Professor, this stretch is the most treacherous coast on the island! That surf is huge! He'll be smashed to pieces on those rocks!"

The Professor looked quickly out to sea again, then at the horrified castaways. "Quick, everybody. We know this island! Where can he land that's safe? Think!"

For a few tense seconds the castaways silently wracked their brains, flipping through a travelogue of bays, inlets and beaches. Suddenly Ginger spoke up. "Professor, that pretty little cove! The one where we sometimes have our picnics! That's near here, isn't it! It's got a nice, soft, sandy beach. And it's sheltered! The water's never as wild as it is out at sea."

The Skipper's eyes widened in recognition. "You're right, Ginger! It is sheltered! It's awfully tiny, though. It would take a miracle for Gilligan to hit it!"

"Then let's make one!" The Professor took command. "Mr. and Mrs. Howell, you take the telescope and follow the Skipper to the cove. Girls, we're heading back to camp as quickly as we can. Here's what we're going to need…"

Arrowing through the water, Gilligan shot up the side of a great wave. The sight of the albatross had filled him with new hope and he kept his eyes always upon it, following its path in the grey vault of the heavens. Like a seal, Gilligan was clumsy on land but graceful and sure in the water: his slim young frame became one with the heaving sea as he stroked and kicked in powerful, perfect rhythm. At last, with a rush of exultation he soared above a crest and saw a tall, dark, still mass looming under the clouds. A moment later he was sliding down into the trough, but that momentary vision was enough. He had seen the island at last.

"It's there! It was there all the time! I would have missed it!" he gasped, almost hysterical with relief. He stroked on, fighting the waves, growing nearer little by little. When he reached the point where the vision did not vanish, but remained high and firm, he stopped for a moment, treading water, struck by the awesome beauty of the mountains and their misty, mysterious summits. He had never seen the island from a distance, and never known it could be so beautiful.

A low, weird cry echoed overhead. Gilligan looked up to see the almost forgotten albatross, now wheeling in the sky. It arced and circled above him, crying again, then veered off at a sharp angle, heading not towards the shore ahead, but a point some ways to the west. As he rode over the top of another swell, he scratched his head. If the bird was a sign, he was there for a reason. Taking a deep breath, Gilligan turned and swam determinedly in the direction the albatross had gone.

Gentle aquamarine waves broke onto the golden sand of Ginger's pretty little cove. The telescope had been set up on a grassy hillock with Ginger manning it, while Mr. Howell stood by holding up the heavy brass bell from the Minnow. Beside him stood his wife, a brass hammer in her hand. On the beach stood the Professor and Skipper with the white life preserver from the Minnow, attached to a long coil of rope. Behind them, Mary Ann had a pot hanging over a campfire and a supply of blankets and bandages just within reach. They looked anxiously past the ribbed green mountains to the far, rolling horizon of the sea.

"Do you see him, Ginger dear?" Mrs. Howell asked eagerly.

"I think so – yes, yes, Mrs. Howell! Professor? He's stopped swimming again!"

"Is he treading water, Ginger?"

"Yes – yes, he is!"

"Ah, that's wise of him," said the Professor. "He's still conserving his energy. Are the dolphins still there?"

The redhead swung the telescope right and left. "I don't see them! I think they've gone!"

The Professor nodded. "Then that must mean the sharks have gone too. He's nearly home. Are you ready, Mr. and Mrs. Howell?"

"Yes, indeed, Professor. As soon as he starts to swim again, we'll start ringing. By Jove, it'll sound like Christmas day in Boston by the time we're through!"

"Good! Mary Ann?"

Mary Ann looked up from where she was stirring the pot. "This is the easy part. You and the Skipper bring him in, and I'll warm him up! Just get him back here for us!"

"That's the spirit. Skipper?"

Jonas Grumby stood firm, holding the white life preserver. "The sea's not taking my first mate from me. Not while I've still got a breath in my body!"

The Professor smiled. "That's it, everyone. Get ready!"


	5. Chapter 5

Treading water, Gilligan gazed at the entrance to the cove and shook his head in wonder. If he hadn't followed the albatross, he'd have been battered to a pulp by the rocks and cut to ribbons by the coral. This was the only safe harbour in sight, and he'd never have seen it.

Now he was so close, and now would come the hardest part of all. Before the shallows would come the colossal, crashing surf, and undertows and rip currents that would drag him under. Now he would have to use all his Navy training and discipline and every ounce of courage he had to fight his way to shore.

The clouds were breaking up and the bronze sun was preparing to set behind the island. Gilligan knew there was no twilight at the equator. There was no more time to rest. He had to move.

"He's swimming again! Now, Mr. and Mrs. Howell!"

Mr. Howell turned from where Ginger was peering excitedly into the telescope. "Now, my dear!" He held up the heavy bell and looked towards the sea. Taking a deep breath, Mrs. Howell began to strike it with the hammer, counting in between as the Skipper had taught her. "One, two, three, four, five…" CLANG!

The Professor and the Skipper were chest deep in the water, the rope linking them and the life-preserver held high. The Professor shook his head. "That undertow's going to be brutal, Skipper. You may only have one chance."

The Skipper set his shoulders. "Either I bring him in or I go down with him, Professor. But I'm not going back on shore without my little buddy."

They looked out to where the sky was glowing dark gold behind the breaking clouds as the bell's clear notes rang out upon the air.

He was swimming in the troughs of the waves, sweeping the water back in a flawless butterfly stroke, angling and zigzagging his way towards shore. His world became contracted to the long, level, curling valleys of water that he sought to cross with as much speed as he could muster. As streamlined as a dolphin himself, Gilligan hurtled through the water, every thought diverted to the interplay of muscle against water and air. For as long as he could, he must stay in the troughs and outrun the great towering crests that threatened to break over him.

And this wave above him, he could feel, was tremendous. He risked a glance back to see the tall white stems of air gathering, like the veins of a living thing, on the rising surface of the massive wave. At the top the crest danced, yellow green and foaming white. And then he heard it: the huge, roaring hiss behind him as the top of the wave came crashing down, like a white demon in a giant shroud. He looked ahead again, plunging steadily on, though he knew he could not escape it. The great glassy tube curled around him, blocking the light, and then it was upon him.

It was like a white curtain at first, and then a terrible weight that thrust him under, into the silty water. He felt himself dragged down, as though huge hands had seized him, but he was ready for the panic that threatened this time. "Seaman Recruit Gilligan!" he heard the Skipper's voice from long ago. "What do you do when you're caught in an undertow? Do you fight it?"

"No sir, Captain Grumby, sir! No one can fight an undertow!"

"That's right! Then what do you do?"

"Swim with it, sir! And push off the bottom!"

"Good man!"

And in that swirling, bubbling, airless darkness, he swam with the terrible force, until he felt his hand brush the sandy bottom. Twisting, he gathered his strong young legs beneath him and pushed off with all he had. His lungs were aching, screaming for air, but he arrowed up smoothly until he shot from the surface like a marlin, gasping in great lungfuls of sweet air. He cast about for the shore and heard a strange sound, a metallic sound like the clanging of a ship's bell. He made for it, plunging through the troughs again, ready to battle the next wave, and the next, and the next.


	6. Chapter 6

The castaways could all see him now, a dark figure in the bronze waves, now appearing, now disappearing, but each time growing ever closer. Ginger stood up now, taking over the ringing of the bell, her red hair gleaming in the fiery light. Mary Ann stood anxiously on shore clasping a blanket to her breast, wishing she could run straight into the waves and reach him. Out in the water, the Professor shaded his eyes. "Good heavens. Johnny Weismuller could take some lessons from him. That's the most skillful swimming I've ever seen! Each of those waves is bigger than the last, and they just can't hold him down! That's the way, Gilligan! Keep swimming! You can do it!"

The Skipper shook his head, eyes bright with worry and pride. "The Navy'd be proud of you, little buddy! You are a mighty sailor man! You can do it! You can! I'm here! I'll be waiting for you!"

The priests had it all wrong, thought Gilligan. Hell was not fire. It was water: dark tunnels and crashing, booming waves and sucking, pitiless black nothingness. That and what seemed like mere moments of swimming, and the clanging of a bell that Gilligan now followed, exhausted and blind. He found he could no longer resist as the great billowing crest of a wave tossed him forward and drove him, twisting, for what seemed like miles. The next, he knew, would finish him. But the next wave did not come. Gliding in the bubbles of that last great wash, he looked around to see the dark shapes of the mountains all around him. That last wave had pushed him into the shallows. He was through.

But he no longer had the strength to swim. His legs moved in spastic jerks, his arms in feeble splashes. He willed his muscles to move, but they would not. He felt himself begin to sink.

Plop! Something hit the water in front of him with a gentle splash. He looked up, bleary-eyed, to see a white object floating in the waves. With a groan and a great effort he floundered forwards through the gently rolling waters until at last a flailing hand caught it. It was smooth, hard, cool. He looped his arm through and hauled himself up on to it, suddenly recognizing it. It normally hung on the front door of his hut.

It was the life preserver of the S.S. Minnow.

Gilligan began to giggle hysterically. He'd gone mad. Well, if this was dying, it wasn't really so terrible.

He closed his eyes and felt the life preserver pulling him doggedly through the waves. It made a pleasant rocking motion and he liked it; it made him want to sleep. He clasped one hand in the other and let it tow him along, like some strange floating cradle.

And then suddenly there were strong hands lifting his shoulders on both sides, and a muscular arm around his waist. He was hauled up and dragged along as his stumbling feet sought to hit the sandy bottom. He could only see blurs now: the bubbling water, the shifting shoreline, the glow of a distant fire, and shadowy figures on the beach. And now there were voices, close at hand. "Come on, Gilligan! Keep moving!"

"Little buddy! We're here! We've got you! Come on now!"

That voice gave the exhausted first mate one more burst of strength. He laboured to move his legs, gulping great draughts of air into his aching lungs. Step, stumble, step, stumble, step…and the arms would pull him up and keep him going. But at last, his strength gave out. He collapsed into the water, his world gone black, but he could still hear the hiss of the surf and the cries of the people on shore. Then a voice nearby spoke again.

"He's had it! Here, give him to me, Professor! I'll carry him in!"

And Gilligan felt himself being hoisted up, his feet in the air, a strong arm under his back and another beneath his knees. Dizzy and limp, he let his head loll against a broad, invisible chest. He rocked gently as they moved forward, safe in that unshakeable grip.

At last the steps grew swifter until finally Gilligan felt himself being lowered and felt the incredible luxury of hard, firm sand beneath him. He could hear voices above him calling out in excitement, but he was interested in only one. He blinked, his vision clearing, until the shape above him resolved into a well-loved face.

Gilligan laughed softly. "Hi, Skipper. Going in for a dip?"


	7. Chapter 7

The campfire crackled merrily, sending dancing light over the seven figures seated on blankets on the sand. Overhead the stars winked and sparkled in the night sky.

Wrapped in a blanket, Gilligan sat nursing a bowl of warm soup and digging his bare heels into the sand. The Skipper hadn't changed clothes; he said he hadn't minded getting wet, but he had insisted that Gilligan get completely dry. And so Gilligan found himself looking very grand in Mr. Howell's cashmere pajamas, while watching his familiar red rugby shirt and jeans drying by the fire. The other castaways sipped at their soup, laughing and chatting in low voices.

The Skipper ruffled his young first mate's dark hair. "It's a good thing there's that extra Dixie cup hat of yours in my sea chest, Gilligan, because I'd say that one is gone for good."

Gilligan raised his eyebrows. "That's for sure, Skipper. Gosh, I thought I was gone for good a lot of times today. I still can't believe I'm really here."

His friends looked at each other and nodded. Every one of them had been thinking the same thing.

"I know I wouldn't be here if you hadn't carried in me in, Skipper, and if you and the Professor hadn't gone in and gotten me. I couldn't even move anymore."

The Skipper clasped his shoulder and momentarily pulled him close. "You were real navy, little buddy. I'm proud of you."

"Thanks, Skipper. You know, I kept hearing your voice from our navy days. You kept telling me what to do, and to keep calm. It was like you were there with me."

The Skipper's breath hitched a little and he looked quickly at the sand. "Well…in a way, I was. We all were. We were watching you every step of the way."

"You were? Wow! Was that how you knew enough to ring the bell? Boy, I'd gotten to the point where I couldn't even see! I was just following the bell! Whose idea was that?"

"Why, the Professor's," said Mr. Howell. "That man is simply a genius."

The Professor laughed, embarrassed. "Oh, come now, Mr. Howell. You and Mrs. Howell and Ginger rang it, and Ginger kept watch to tell you when to start. And it was Ginger who first thought of helping Gilligan reach this cove. We all share the credit." He looked back at Gilligan. "Tell me, Gilligan, how did you know enough to start swimming in the direction of the island? We saw you swimming out to sea and tried desperately to get your attention, but nothing worked!"

Gilligan blinked. "You were trying to get my attention? Boy, if I'd only known! What did you do?"

Ginger pointed. "Mary Ann thought of a fire. We tried sending up a smoke signal, but then the wind blew all the smoke away."

"And the Professor thought of the conch shells, but you couldn't hear them," Mary Ann added. "It was just too rough out there."

"So how did you find the island, little buddy?" asked the Skipper.

"It was the albatross, Skipper," Gilligan said, as though he expected the Skipper to understand.

The others all looked at one another. "Albatross?"

"Yeah!" Gilligan looked at them, a bit confused. "It was huge! Didn't you see it?"

He was met with blank stares. "No, Gilligan," said the Professor. "I'm sure we'd have noticed it."

Gilligan was truly flummoxed now. "But it was the biggest bird I've ever seen! It flew right over the island! It even led me here to this safe cove! You must have seen it!"

But his friends all looked at each other, shrugging and shaking their heads. "Gilligan, we were watching the sea like hawks," said the Professor gently. "We never saw any bird, and certainly not an albatross."

Mary Ann piped up. "But we did see the dolphins, Gilligan. We took turns looking through the telescope at them! It was so wonderful, the way they protected you!"

Now it was Gilligan's turn to look incredulous. "Dolphins?"

Again his friends all looked at each other. "Yes, Gilligan, you must have seen them," said the Skipper. "That's what saved you from the sharks! They drove them off! And then they stayed with you until you made the cove!"

Gilligan shook his head. "So that's what it was! I couldn't figure out why those sharks left me alone!" He shuddered for a moment, recalling the terrible creatures. "But those sharks were awful close. That one was only a few yards away from me! If there were dolphins there, I'm sure I would have seen them! So why couldn't I…and why couldn't you--" He stopped and shot a look at each of his friends, his eyes wide and almost fearful. "Hey, what's going on? What happened to me out there?" He turned and stared out at the black abyss that was the night and the sea.

Nobody answered. The castaways all looked out at the darkness, edging a little closer to the fire and to one another as they half-listened for voices in the distant boom of the surf.

At last Mary Ann broke the silence. "When we were up on the hill, the Skipper said that somebody sent you lifeguards. I believe it."

Gilligan looked back at the fire, light and shadow flickering in his eyes. Almost to himself, he whispered, _"Sure some kind saint took pity on me, and I bless'd them unaware…"_

The Skipper sat up. "What's that, little buddy?"

"It's that poem, Skipper, the one you're always reading to me. About the sailor that gets lost out at sea. What's it called again?"

"Oh – that's 'The Rime of the Ancient Mariner'."

"Yeah, that's it." Gilligan looked keenly at him. "Skipper, do you remember towards the ending? The part where the mariner's telling the Wedding Guest about how he's so glad to be back?"

The Skipper thought a moment, then smiled. "I think I know the part you mean." He sat up and began to recite in his deep, gentle voice:

_O Wedding Guest! This soul hath been_

_Alone on a wide, wide sea:_

_So lonely 'twas, that God Himself_

_Scarce seemed there to be._

_O sweeter far than the marriage-feast,_

'_Tis sweeter far to me,_

_To walk together to the kirk_

_With a goodly company!_

Gilligan nodded, eyes bright. "That's it exactly, Skipper," he said softly. He raised his bowl like a chalice. "Everybody, I'd like to propose a toast: To a goodly company – to everyone and everything that saved me. To the Lifeguards."

The castaways raised their bowls solemnly. "To the Lifeguards!"

And far out in the deep the dolphins sang, while above the albatross cried low and soared off over the dark sea.


End file.
